


my house

by meowcosm



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aftermath Of A Party - Freeform, Drinking, House Party, Introspection, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Emotional Tension, ft. Lorenz's Weird Baggage With His Dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24691294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowcosm/pseuds/meowcosm
Summary: i called you late againdid it to wind you updon't fall asleep againi'm just arriving--In the aftermath of a flat party, Lorenz and Claude are the only residents left conscious and sober. Naturally, they're the ones heading the clean-up efforts.Before they get anywhere, Claude tries to get a better read on Lorenz, finding himself increasingly drawn to what little intrigue remains surrounding him.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	my house

**Author's Note:**

> hi!
> 
> this is based on my experiences living in student accommodation in the uk, where the drinking age is 18, and lower if accompanied by an adult. as such, though this is set pre-timeskip (equivalent), all characters are legally able to drink and this fic is not tagged for underage drinking. if this is a potential upset, i would recommend not reading further.

“I didn’t know you were still around.” 

It should surprise Claude less, really, that Lorenz has lingered as long as he has. He’d made a public profession of teetotalism earlier in the night- one that had resisted any and all calls for him to loosen up a little on the matter (mostly from Leonie). Still- and yes, maybe he’s projecting- there’s a part of him that twitches at the thought that he hasn’t given in at some point. Especially when the last time Claude saw him when he was sneaking out of the door almost half an hour earlier, making no comment and very potentially hiding something. 

“Someone has to clean the place.” It’s a half-truth, and Claude supposes that’s good enough for now. Certainly, it must appear to be true, with the crumpled up remains of a beer can clutched in the palm of his hand.

He remembers, of course, why this specific beer can was crushed. Hilda had challenged Raphael to crumple one of the 500ml cans between his biceps, and, well- he’d made a show of it. A rather successful one, that Claude couldn’t have faulted him for if he tried. He’d seen Lorenz grimace at the sight, though. 

_ So it’s perhaps not the best opening for a conversation,  _ Claude mutters to himself mentally. 

He recalibrates, and fishes up something else.

“To be honest, I didn’t know you were either.” 

Lorenz snorts. “You’re clearly not paying much attention, then.” 

And that, well- Claude considers it a slight. “You left ages ago!” he exclaims, tone on the verge of accusatory. “I saw you leave the room. I figured you’d gone to bed.” 

Saying that earns Claude another eye-roll from Lorenz, fishing his phone out of his pocket as he gives Claude the most detached expression of exasperation he can manage.  _ Claude barely pays attention, observing instead Lorenz’s phone- an Android, rose-gold colourway. Expensive, and undamaged despite being caseless. He probably takes good care of it, then- _

“Are you even listening to me, Claude?” 

_ Oh. Was he saying something?  _

“Sorry. I was looking at your phone. It’s nice.”

Lorenz shoots Claude a quizzical look. Still, it’s more pleasant than some of the looks he’s given Claude, and Claude’s more than willing to consider that a positive outcome. 

“Right. Well, I had to leave to take a call.”

Claude’s inner lie-sensing instinct alerts immediately at the mention of a call so late in the night- particularly when it’s coming from Lorenz’s mouth. Lorenz, who he very distinctly remembers stuttering over the word  _ sex _ when ordering a cocktail in the bar they’d visited with the rest of the flat a month or so ago.  _ It’s not that he’s unattractive _ , Claude tells himself,  _ but I doubt that someone is calling him up for sex _ . 

“Oh! A paramour?” Claude teases, with a gentle wink accompanying his words. Lorenz flusters almost immediately, drawing his arms back against his torso. 

“My father.” He’s strangely assertive in the way he says it, Claude notes- another tally on Claude’s mental list of strikes against  _ Lorenz’s weird issues with his father _ . “He called to check if I was awake.” 

Suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling that he’ll be here for a while, Claude pulls one of the shitty plastic kitchen chairs away from the equally shitty table. It creaks, the sound of plastic against the linoleum floor nothing if but atrocious, but a conversation with Lorenz ends quickly almost as rarely as it ends pleasantly. For that reason, Claude thinks it worth getting over with now. 

Now seated, he takes a second to formulate a question that won’t immediately challenge Lorenz. 

“Did you tell him about the party tonight?” 

“Yes.” He says it with such righteous confidence that Claude can’t help but grimace, particularly when it confirms what should have already been obvious to him- Lorenz can’t keep his mouth shut. “Is there a problem with that?” 

“Why tell your dad?” Claude’s pretty sure he likes his dad a normal amount, and he doesn’t tell him about much of the stuff he does. Or at least he edits it, for both brevity and security purposes. 

  
“Why not?” he retorts, a sting in his speech. “Unless we’re doing something wrong.”

“We’re not.” It’s a reiteration of what Claude had emphasized earlier: that he was of drinking age, and so were several of the others, and therefore it was entirely legal and safe for everyone to drink. Lorenz had scoffed at the idea of Lysithea being given alcohol, though, and had only been reassured by her declaring the single sip of alcohol she’d taken all night to be greatly repulsive. “Alright. Let me ask you this.”

Lorenz’s lips curl, but he says nothing, and Claude takes that as the sign to go ahead. 

“Why do you want to tell your dad about this?” Claude inquires, fingers pressed together to form a closed fist. In response, all Lorenz can do is stutter for a few seconds, trying to piece together a coherent answer in his mind.

“You see- it’s a matter of- I want-  _ I think it’s important that he’s aware of what I’m doing _ .” he mutters, breaking into a hiss for the latter part of the sentence. Regardless of how venom-laced he might intend his words to be, Claude can tell he has him backed into a corner. 

“Why do you want that?” 

Lorenz’s eyes begin to twitch, and Claude realizes that not only has he backed him into a corner, but he’s struck a nerve, too. 

“It’s for my own good.” Lorenz asserts, voice uneven and eyes not meeting Claude’s gaze. 

“It’s only a flat party. Does he really think so lowly of you, that you can’t survive through a bunch of people your age drinking beer?” 

Lorenz shakes his head. “He dislikes the environment in the first place. He’s worried I’ll end up neglecting my studies for alcohol.”

Briefly, Claude’s mind dips away from the conversation to recall one of the brief little factoids he has stored away: that Lorenz’s father is a politician back where he’s from (not that Claude’s father is any different, aside from lacking potential control-freakery). He’d checked his voting records the first time Lorenz mentioned him, and found a strong record against drinking, particularly when it involved the student population. And against equal access to education- but  _ that _ was reserved for if Claude ever needed Leonie to get in an argument with Lorenz. 

Lorenz continues, unabashed by Claude’s expression going blanker for a second. “I had to lie to him about the transaction on my account for that drink, you know. I told him my card was stolen.” 

Claude comes back to himself, and focuses on Lorenz. It’s almost riveting just how much information he gives away without being prompted for it, and without even realizing how concerning it sounds. He can’t help but feel bad, quite frankly. Still, he knows that if he challenges Lorenz’s father without thinking, Lorenz will only become more firmly rooted in his defence- his thought of challenging Lorenz on his father’s access to his bank account is, therefore, squared away. 

“He reprimanded me for that, but it would have been worse if he’d found me drinking.”

“You bought alcohol for the party, though.”   
  


Lorenz tuts. “I can’t drink, but I can certainly be a decent host. And it was from the supermarket, so I can excuse it as a food purchase.” 

Claude taps his forefinger on the cheap faux-wood of the table, humming as he does. “I appreciate it, Lorenz. I guess there are some secrets you’ll keep from your father, after all.” 

There’s a glimpse of something Claude can’t quite place in Lorenz’s eye when he hears the words, but it disappears too quickly for him to chart it. Indeed, he returns to his normal self mere seconds later. 

“I do not appreciate you casting me in that light. I purchased alcohol for others- who, as you have explained to me, in your capacity as a law student, are legally allowed to drink- and not for myself. I don’t consider that to be a concern.”

_ So he does have limits _ , Claude ponders. “You’re right.”

“Those are the sweetest words I think you could ever speak to me, Claude. I figured you were miraculously sober, but I’m beginning to wonder if you’re just a particularly coherent drunk.”

Claude chuckles, a laugh rising from his belly. “Nope. Haven’t drunk a drop the whole night.”

Lorenz pauses in motion, and gives Claude a quizzical look. “I saw you with a drink. Several drinks, come to think of it.” 

  
“Soda.” Claude states, punctuated by the click of his tongue. “I’ll probably need to pee a few times in the night, but it’s better than waking up with a hangover.” 

“We’re both sober, then. And conscious. Unlike everyone else.”

Claude grins. “I’m almost stunned that any amount of alcohol can take Raphael down. And at how much Ignatz can take.” 

Lorenz comments on neither statement, but the corners of his lips turn upwards, and that’s enough for Claude. “That makes us the ones who are cleaning up.” 

Claude knows if he leaves it, Byleth will likely take care of it in the morning. Still, regardless of any self-admitted conniving traits, Claude’s rather firm in not transcending that barrier of disregard for others. Admittedly, he’d envisioned taking the clean-up effort into his own hands, but it’s silly to refuse Lorenz’s help now that he’s here and willing. It’ll save him some time, and if he tells him to leave, he’ll no doubt go on some poorly-disguised tangent against his “mannerisms”. As entertaining as it is to watch Lorenz bubble over about Claude’s assignment as resident leader by Byleth (who is in charge, really, and Claude knows it), he does intend to get to sleep before 4am. 

He glances briefly over at his watch to check the time. 

_ Half past two. So I can spare him my company for a little longer.  _

“Sure does. Before we do that, though, we can make a little more mess.”

Lorenz’s eyes narrow and fix on Claude. “I don’t know what you’re suggesting.” 

“A drink. A proper one.”

Immediately, Claude can see Lorenz at the beginning of a determined shake of the head, and he interjects. 

“It can be as light as you want. If we’re a little fuzzy, it’ll probably make the cleaning go faster, and we can drink water, too.” 

“So we won’t get a hangover.” Lorenz finishes the sentence for Claude, and Claude blinks in surprise. “You’re too convincing for your own good. You’d make a good politician.” He hesitates, just for a moment. “Or at least, you’d have no problem getting the job.”

In his heart of hearts, Claude desperately wants to make a jab against Lorenz’s father. After all, it’s unlikely he’s envisioning anyone else but him when Lorenz talks about politics, and Claude finds himself hesitant to believe that his old man is any more worthwhile as a politician than he is as a father. Still, he bites his tongue on the matter. 

“Perhaps. I wouldn’t say no to being a statesman.” Truthfully, he  _ had _ been thinking about switching onto the Politics & International Relations combined course- still is. But that’s information that Lorenz doesn’t need to be privy to right now. “Is that a yes to a drink, then?” 

Lorenz huffs, but it’s not a no. Indeed, a few seconds later, he follows it up with a yes. 

“Alright. We’ll have a beer each, then.”

“I took you for a wine person. You certainly bought a lot of it.” 

Lorenz, now prying open the fridge door and pulling out two of the nicer beers they’ve accumulated over the past few months, flashes Claude a look of disgust. “I am. But not that wine.”    
  
“Oh. Is there a problem with it?” 

“Not… necessarily.” Lorenz hands Claude the beer he has clutched in one hand, fetching the bottle opener to take off the cap without him prompting. “It was requested by Hilda.”

“Aw, what’s wrong with Hilda?” They’re close, despite Hilda’s faults, and if Lorenz disparages her then Claude isn’t sure if he can take too kindly to that.

  
“Nothing. Except her taste in wine.” 

“I should be upfront with you, and say it all tastes the same to me.”

Lorenz raises an eyebrow at him, but resigns quickly, popping open the cap on his own beer. “At least you admit it. The beer isn’t terrible- for what it is, at least- so I’d be fine to raise you a toast with it.”    
  
Claude lifts his bottle solely with his forefingers, a confident show of dexterity. He wiggles it about a little, waiting for Lorenz to raise his own. When he takes his seat next to Claude, he hoists the malt-brown tinted glass up, and Claude brings the rim of his own beer to Lorenz’s drink of choice. They clink, without any of the jubilation that Claude’s used to with toasts- still, any small show of goodwill from Lorenz is worth savouring. 

A second later, they draw away from each other. Claude sets his drink down on the table before taking a swig, waiting to observe Lorenz’s drinking style. As if impatient, Lorenz raises the bottle to his lips almost immediately, enveloping the head of the thin neck with his lips.

_ He’s a gentle drinker. Even as he has it in his mouth, it doesn’t really look like the liquid is going down very much, so he can’t be taking big gulps. It’s probably a matter of propriety. Also, he closes his eyes, like he’s trying to endure something. Then again, he never said he liked beer. Only that he wasn’t going to drink the wine we have _ . 

When Lorenz draws the bottle away from his mouth, Claude isn’t sure how much time has passed, but it certainly feels like he should have drunk more of the beer itself in the time elapsed. When Lorenz’s lips close, though- that draws Claude’s attention more than anything. 

_ He has a little bit left on his lips. Does he consider it rude to lick it off? _

For a moment in time, Claude doesn’t think to stop himself staring. He’s hardly had a chance to look at Lorenz so close up- at least, that’s how he rationalizes it. 

_ He shaves very cleanly. If he grows very much facial hair at all, that is. They’re well-moisturized, and you can tell he pays good attention to his grooming routine from the way it’s all consistent. Perhaps that’s to be expected, but- _

“I don’t know if you’ll find your own drink on my face, you know. Last time I checked, it was still in your bottle.”

Lorenz’s words bring Claude right back to reality with a start. It’s as if a microscope has been ripped out from beneath him, and now he’s looking at the whole of Lorenz again- the one with the bad attitude towards him and the daddy issues which land somewhere between entertaining and infuriating. 

In that moment, though, Claude knows he had noticed something else.

“I was distracted.” He doesn’t offer up anything else but that in way of explanation, preferring to raise his own bottle to his own lips and let the silence fill the gap between them. Claude takes a considered swig, bracing himself against the cold liquid. 

It’s beer- there’s not much else to be said about it. Like all beer, it’s an acquired taste, and Claude knows that he’d prefer a cocktail any day. But he doesn’t have a cocktail- he has Lorenz, and a shitty table, and a shitty chair to sit on. 

Which might not be so bad. It’s as good of a vantage point as any. 

-

They don’t say anything for the rest of the night. Truthfully, Claude isn’t sure what he would say, or what Lorenz might choose to say to him. The fact that they can remain in silence together, half-finished beers sitting side-by-side on the kitchen table as Lorenz kneels to sweep pink glitter into a dustpan and Claude tosses beer cans into the rubbish bin- it’s already a rather positive ending to what Claude knows he could easily have made into a disaster of a night. 

By the time they’re finished, the kitchen looks slightly less destroyed. Almost on the verge of not having been destroyed at all, which Claude counts as a victory. Whatever’s left is someone else’s problem- and someone else’s fault. 

Lorenz leaves the room first, finishing his drink in one fell swoop before he heads back to his room. He doesn’t say goodnight, but he waves farewell, and Claude does the same, sitting back in one of the chairs and leaning against the fridge.  _ Achieving the perfect balance between forces _ , as he’d explained once to his mother, who’d nodded her head with sincere interest and waited patiently for him to receive a sudden reminder of the existence of gravity. 

Without anyone else, the kitchen soon begins to feel rather sorrowful, its lights on for a single presence at-  _ three AM _ , Claude notes. He takes the bottle from the table and brings it with him to his room, propping it up on his nightstand as he sinks underneath the homemade patterned blankets which lay atop his duvet. 

Despite the alcohol, and despite Lorenz’s image still burned into his brain, he sleeps almost instantly. 

He dreams, too. Of Lorenz, perching on a fanciful white-iron garden chair, taking a delicate sip of red wine from a fluted glass. 

“It’s good, isn’t it?” 

It’s a dream- Claude knows that. He’s always been good at telling them apart from reality. But dream Claude, as if he’d never consider doing anything else, nods his head at the statement before drinking, too, from his own glass of wine.

When he wakes, the taste of beer is on his tongue again, and he doesn’t focus for the rest of the day. 

In the library, he spends his last hour looking up wine pairings, and heads to one of the only stores nearby that sells steak instead of going straight home. It’s only when the steak and wine buzz through the self-service machine that Claude really takes in how impulsive of an idea he has- but his card is on the reader, and it’s too late to back out. 

  
_ If nothing else _ , he whispers to himself,  _ I’ll get to eat steak _ . 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> you can find me @meowcosm on twitter, i post a lot of fe3h. kudos and comments are always appreciated.


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